The First Noel
by A.Diamond
Summary: Arthur's father and Arthur's husband have never really got on. But it's Christmas, and Christmas is a time for families—no matter how contrary they may be. / A series of stories, not in chronological order.
1. The First Noel

The thing was, Arthur's father and Arthur's husband had never really got on. It wasn't even entirely Uther's fault for being judgmental and unyielding, though he could be both of those things. No, it all started because Merlin was absolute bollocks at first impressions. In fact, he'd been such a clueless, mouthy fresher when he—literally—ran into Arthur in the first week of his second year at university that their eventual nuptials were nothing short of a minor miracle.

If their initial meeting, which had fostered a year and a half of glares and snide remarks before they finally got over themselves and started shagging ridiculously often, was unfortunate, then the first contact between Merlin Emrys and Uther Pendragon could rightly be classified as a disaster. It had taken place in Arthur's final year, post- (well, mid-, really) one of the aforementioned shags, when Uther had dropped by unannounced and Merlin, thinking Arthur's neighbor was once again preparing a homophobic rant disguised as a complaint about the noise, had answered the door completely nude and declared, "Yes, Val, I'm still wildly enthusiastic about sodomy," before registering that it wasn't Valiant at the door. It had taken another moment before he'd recognized their guest from Arthur's family photos.

"Fuck."

"Apparently," Uther had replied coldly. Uther, to whom Arthur had not yet come out. Uther, whom Arthur had always described as strict and traditional and conservative. Uther, who had stared at Merlin like he was the most worthless sort of refuse until he'd scurried off to find Arthur and then spent the next two days hiding in the flat's only bathroom. Arthur brought him cereal and toasted cheese sandwiches, because Arthur was an amazing boyfriend.

In all, not the most auspicious start to the familial relationship they had come to share, and thus the reason Merlin was in the worst type of his manic moods, frantic and defensive and fatalistic. He'd spent three days cleaning and decorating their new house and muttered the entire time about Uther's unreasonable standards.

"Ring him and cancel!" he demanded for the ninth time, after the second attempt at pudding came out just as burnt as the first, and the goose was dry on one side and undercooked on the other in a way that no one but Merlin could manage, and Morgana had called to say her flight from the Continent had been grounded for six hours due to mechanical issues.

"No, Merlin, we're not cancelling Christmas dinner," Arthur sighed, also for the ninth time. He came up behind Merlin and gently pulled him away from the smoking baking tray. Merlin turned in his arms, burying his flushed face against Arthur's shoulder, and let out a long, strangled noise of frustration.

"Tell me again why I thought this was a good idea?" he asked Arthur's shirt.

"Because you wanted to show off how disgustingly happy and domestic we are, instead of 'suffering through another interminable thing' with all my 'stuffy, self-important relatives,'" Arthur reminded him. "My father will be here in twenty minutes, and we'll all sit down and eat the lovely meal you made for us. Then the survivors, if there are any, can fight over opening the crackers."

Merlin huffed in offense and gave his husband a halfhearted punch in the arm. "You're a prat," he complained, but Arthur could hear the laughter hiding in his sullen tone.

"Absolutely," Arthur agreed with warm, smug affection. "But you knew that before our first date, so you must be an idiot."

Merlin snorted, raising his face to peck Arthur on the lips with a cheeky smirk. "Says you. I snagged a bloke with money and looks, while you got the world's worst trophy husband, all big ears and terrible cooking. Who's the real idiot here, hm?"

"Mmm, the ears are a thing, but I like them." He nipped at the shell of one of them, whispering, "I particularly like how red they get when I—"

A sharp rap at the door broke the moment, followed a moment later by the bell chiming like an afterthought. Merlin tensed and Arthur soothed him with a kiss, then sent him back to the stove while ignoring his protests that they weren't legally obligated to answer the door for sixteen more minutes.

"Father," he greeted.

Uther looked younger than he had just two days before, removed temporarily from the stress and responsibilities of work. His dark red cashmere sweater was undoubtedly just as expensive as any of his stiff button downs, but gentled his usual intimidating demeanor into a slightly less menacing version of stern. "Arthur."

"Please, come in. Did Morgana reach you?"

Humming vaguely in assent, Uther passed the threshold and grimaced as soon as the acrid smoke lingering in the air assaulted his senses. The extra years were instantly back on his face. "I see the boy is again navigating the line between feeding us and poisoning us," he said disdainfully and quite loudly enough for his voice to carry into the kitchen. "Any idea which side he's planning to fall on this time?"

"Father!" Arthur snapped. He felt a bit guilty for having said much the same thing himself, despite the difference in intent.

"It's fine, Arthur," Merlin said as he balanced four heavily piled plates past them from the kitchen to the dining room. He wore the same forced smile he always did in Uther's presence—when he wasn't scowling, anyway. "Your father's just concerned because I married you for your money, and I've played the naive, loving spouse long enough now that no one will suspect me when you die young and leave me all your assets. Entirely unrelated, you should eat lots of Brussels sprouts. Uther, you like those too, right?"

Merlin was gone before he could see Arthur's scowl, so Arthur turned it on his father instead. "Is one day of civility—bloody Christmas!—really so much to ask?"

Uther scowled right back, an expression Arthur knew well from childhood lectures and board meetings. "You may be blind to the boy's faults, Arthur—"

"Merlin. His name is Merlin, and I'm well aware that he's the most ridiculous, daft pillock I've ever met, but he's also kind and clever and he _loves_ me. If you can't love him for that, can't you at least be happy for me?"

Arthur rarely yelled, and his interruption didn't quite reach that level, but it was the angriest he'd been with his father since Uther had tried refusing to speak to Merlin at his own wedding to Arthur five years previously. When he finally had acknowledged Merlin, it had been to correct the use of 'wedding' to 'civil partnership ceremony' and further scoff at the word 'husband,' at which point Morgana had slapped him and Arthur had refused to speak to him for a month; it had made the first two weeks back at work after his honeymoon excruciatingly awkward.

Perhaps Uther recalled the same event, because he looked not the slightest bit contrite but allowed a terse, "Very well," before striding past his son to the dining room.

They all sat stiffly, Arthur at the head of the table, Merlin to his right, and Uther to his left. Arthur had barely begun to carve the goose, aiming for the portions closest to properly cooked, when Merlin's mobile let out a shrieking trill that made him flinch and slice halfway through the mostly raw breast. Uther glared at the offensive noise, then glared harder as Merlin squirmed the phone from his pocket. He was about to protest when Merlin had the audacity to put the phone to his ear, but Merlin flapped a hand at him so dismissively that Uther was stunned into silence.

"Freya, hello! How—" The grin Merlin had answered with vanished as he demanded, "What? No, she's not due for two more months!"

In the silence as Merlin listened, Arthur heard a male voice on the other end of the line speaking rapidly but calmly, though he couldn't make out the words.

"Yeah," Merlin said, standing on visibly shaky legs and looking at Arthur with a lost expression, "yeah, we're on the way."

Arthur, having already discarded his utensils, took the darkened phone from Merlin's unresisting hand and asked, "Is Freya all right?"

"She's started labor," Merlin answered, still sounding small and scared. "Preterm. She's at the hospital, told them to call us. We need to—Arthur, it's too early!" he interrupted himself, breath hitching.

"We'll go, come on. It'll be okay. Father—" Arthur turned to Uther, whose face hovered between thunderous rage and confusion. "I'm sorry to rush off, but we need to..."

Arthur trailed off in his struggle to produce an excuse, and went with the truth: "Our son is being born."

After a moment of astonished staring, Uther's jaw set with determination and he, too, stood up from the table. "I'll drive you," he said, low and dangerous, "so you may concentrate on telling me just what the hell you mean by that."

As they didn't have time for an argument, and Arthur internally suspected neither he nor Merlin were in a fit state of mind to drive safely, they agreed.

"We were going to tell you tonight, you and Morgana," was the first thing Arthur said after long minutes of silence in the car. Merlin was on the phone in the back seat, oscillating between pleas and threats towards some poor nurse in an attempt to get updates that Arthur had warned him wouldn't be forthcoming until they arrived in person.

Uther didn't react, so he continued. "We wanted to wait for the assessment to be finalized, in case something went wrong, and that only happened last week. We're adopting a child. A baby. He's not due until the end of February, but, well, you heard."

Uther processed the information slowly, then asked, "Who are the parents?"

Arthur knew the question he was really asking—would there be any issues with custody down the line—so he answered both. "The mother, Freya, she's young. Barely fifteen. She wants to have some contact with him, birthday parties and Christmas letters and the like, perhaps an honorary title of 'Auntie.' We like the idea.

"The father will not be involved." Uther's brows lifted towards his receding hairline, so Arthur emphasized, "Ever." His father knew him well enough to let it go at that.

By the time they reached the hospital and located Freya, most of the excitement was over. The top half of her bed was inclined and she lay collapsed against it, matted with sweat and looking simultaneously years older and heartbreakingly young. She was listening to a doctor at her bedside, who stopped and looked up when the three men arrived. No one else was in the room, and Arthur could feel the moment Merlin started to panic.

"It's okay," Freya told them. Her voice was hoarse, but she was smiling. "He's okay."

The doctor elaborated, after permission from Freya. ("He's their son," she said, and Arthur's heart seemed to stop beating.) "There are concerns, as with any preterm birth, but he's remarkably well-developed for thirty-two weeks. He's in the neonatal ICU now, but stable—he just needs support as he finishes that growth that would normally take place in utero."

"Can we see him?" Merlin's voice wobbled with badly restrained tears, and Arthur knew his wouldn't be any better.

"Of course," the doctor assured them. "I'll take you up there now, actually, and then I'll need your assistance with the birth certificate. Freya indicated that she wanted you to name him."

"He's yours," she said again at their surprise. "My social worker said that you could try to change it when you go to court for the adoption, but that sometimes judges won't allow it. It didn't feel right, taking that chance."

Merlin clutched Arthur's hand as the doctor led them through corridors and an elevator, Uther silent and thoughtful behind. The NICU was sectioned off by large panels of windows, and the doctor stopped in front of the glass.

"Only one of you is allowed in at a time, I'm afraid. It's a safety and contamination issue. But this is him, here."

Through the window, they looked down onto the small cot barely a meter away. The infant was small, fragile, with an assortment of small tubes and leads connecting him to the machines and monitors arranged around the distressingly coffin-like plastic incubator sheltering him.

But he was awake, eyes wide and blue, with his tiny hands closing and opening around nothing as he sought out a comforting touch.

Both of Merlin's own hands pressed against the glass in longing, and the heartbreak etched over his face shook Arthur from his daze.

He said softly, "Merlin, go. It's all right, I'll be right here, and then I'll go in after you, and he'll know we both love him so much."

"He's perfect," Merlin whispered. He whirled around to Arthur, panic replacing everything else. "We need to name him! Arthur, he needs a perfect name and we haven't even talked about it!"

Arthur had thought about it, though. Before, when it had all been theoretical and they had so much more time, and then later, trailing through the hallways with Freya's request weighing on him and none of his previous ideas sitting well. "Noel," he offered. "It's Christmas."

"Noel Pendragon." Merlin relaxed, glancing back at their frail but perfect son, and nodded.

The doctor smiled and made a note, then gently guided Merlin inside. Arthur and his father could only follow with their eyes as Merlin scrubbed his hands and donned a thin gown and gloves, then gently lifted the baby from his warm but impersonal habitat.

As they stood side by side at the window, watching Merlin cradle and coo at the tiny bundle in his arms, Arthur heard his father make an odd, throaty noise. He turned slightly, righteousness rising in him as he readied himself to defend his husband against some baseless accusation regarding his fitness as a parent, but paused when he saw Uther's tender expression and the faint sheen sparkling across his eyes in the sterile lighting. He waited.

"Your mother only got to hold you for ten minutes before—" Uther's voice cracked, but Arthur knew what he was trying to say: before her child was ripped from her arms in a panic, before she was rushed to surgery, before the unnoticed postpartum hemorrhage bled away her life. When Uther spoke again, it was a watery whisper: "That's exactly the way she looked at you."

He finally broke his gaze, turning his face towards Arthur and reaching out. His hand faltered as it neared Arthur's cheek, dropped to grasp his shoulder instead, and Arthur could feel it trembling slightly. "You're going to be so happy," Uther promised.

They both looked back at the scene in the NICU. As though sensing it, Merlin chose that moment to glance up at last and angle little Noel so they could see his red face, delicate features scrunched up in contented sleep. Arthur lifted his own hand to cover his father's, still resting on his shoulder. "Yeah, we are," he said. The beaming smile his husband graced them with may have been the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen.


	2. The Age Old Reason for Joy

It had been nearly a year, but Arthur still had to pause, heart swelling unbearably, every time he came home and found Merlin waiting in the hallway, face shining with joy and arms full of an unfailingly giggling baby boy. Noel would squeal with delight and flail with chubby, grasping hands for his papa; Merlin would hand him off, using the exchange as an excuse for a sweet welcome home kiss.

It was disgustingly twee and everything Arthur had ever dreamed of.

So he couldn't fight the slump of disappointment when he opened the door and only a dark, empty hallway greeted him. He resisted the urge to worry, because it wasn't as if Merlin was there every single day, but it happened more often than not and it was always the brightest point of his day.

The house was still and peaceful, so although he called out a soft, "Merlin?" as he hung his jacket and toed off his shoes, he kept quiet after setting down his briefcase to wander down the hallway.

The kitchen was empty, as was the dining room. He found them, after checking Noel's bedroom and the one he shared with Merlin to no effect, in what was ostensibly his study. His desk still sat against the wall beneath the only window, but the rest of the room had been overrun by colorful soft toys and squishy plastic nonsense covered in drool.

An overly large armchair nestled between two bookshelves in one corner, and in it slept a beautiful man with messy dark hair, prominent cheekbones, and even more prominent ears. A book of bright pictures and large words lay open on his lap; in the cradle of one arm, snuggled cozily against his chest, an equally beautiful infant—plump, rosy cheeks, the first wisps of fine blond hair—wheezed soft snores into his shirt.

The love that burst into his chest at the sight felt remarkably like heartbreak, welling up in his throat and stinging his eyes, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He didn't know how long he spent there, gaze lingering on his family—his husband, his child, his whole world—before Noel stirred in Merlin's embrace. The boy caught sight of him in the doorway and all his innocent sleepiness fell away.

He started to wiggle and bounce, screaming, "Puh! Puh!" and Arthur swooped over to ease him out of Merlin's hold even as his husband woke and smiled, drowsy but content, and yawned out, "Welcome home, love."


	3. In Dulci Jubilo

_Takes place before The First Noel_

* * *

"You're awful at this."

"Fuck off."

"I mean really, really terrible. I didn't actually know it was possible for someone to be this bad at it."

"I said fuck off."

"It might honestly be worse than your cooking, and how that's possible I shudder to imagine. Though you haven't sent me to casualty with broken toes yet, despite your many attempts, so perhaps it is a notch above the food."

"I'm going to send you to casualty with something else broken if you don't shut up and stop ruining the moment, you absolute git."

"Nah, you aren't. It's your favorite part of me. You've told me you need it to survive."

"Damn it, Arthur, I'm serious. Can't you just let me have this?"

"You know, if I weren't intimately familiar with your cock, I'd be reasonably sure I just married a girl."

"Oh yes, that would be much better, wouldn't it? It's not too late. We don't have to finalize the paperwork. You can find some bint with big tits and have a _real_ wedding for your _real_ marriage and, and—"

"Oh, _love_. Love, no. I didn't mean it like that. You know the only reason I didn't hit him was that Morgana got there first. To hell with him and his bigotry; you're so much more important to me than any of his opinions. I **am** your husband. You're mine. This is our wedding."

"Damn right it is."

"Come here, that's right, sniffle all over my two thousand pound tux. I love you, Merlin. That's what all this fuss was about, remember? So go ahead and have your girly moment, I'll be here and I'll never want anyone else. Big tits or big cock notwithstanding."

"I can't believe—fuck, can't stop crying either, I'm a mess. I can't believe you're insulting my cock in the middle of trying to comfort me, you great prat."

"Of course you can."

"God, I can. Weren't you going to shut up and let me have my moment?"

"Yes, Mr Pendragon. Shutting up, Mr Pendragon."

"I love you too, Mr Pendragon."


	4. Carol of the Bells

Morgana arrived mid-morning on December 24th and promptly kicked Merlin out of the kitchen. Then she dragged him back in, but with strict orders to "only do exactly what I say and not anything that your disaster of an inner chef thinks you should be doing."

It wasn't entirely fair—Merlin's cooking had actually improved over the past year of extensive effort—but that didn't stop Arthur from laughing. Or being secretly grateful that Merlin wasn't going to be in charge of dinner.

Uther got to the house a few hours later, looked at Merlin more or less running frantic circles around Morgana as he tried to simultaneously dice an onion, stir a pot, and sing along to some horrendously catchy Christmas pop song, and made the wise decision to call a greeting through the doorway and otherwise leave them to it, joining Arthur and Noel in the sitting room.

"Great-Aunt Agatha sends her regrets that she's unable to join us," Arthur told his father after Uther hugged him and kissed Noel. "Our house is so much further to travel than the family estate, and her health isn't up to it."

Uther looked at him in surprise. "You invited Great-Aunt Agatha?"

"No."

"Ah."

Merlin's terrible singing aside, things were quite peaceable through dinner. But the universe seemed opposed to the idea of an uneventful Pendragon Christmas.

The birth of their first child had taken them surprise by its timing, two months premature and terrifying right up through the day the doctors said it was safe to take Noel home. The birth of their second child took them by surprise because they hadn't planned on a second child just yet, so soon after Noel. A few years more, they'd decided.

Nevertheless, when Arthur and Merlin received an unexpected Christmas Eve call from the social worker who'd overseen Freya's case and their son's adoption, needing emergency placement on the holiday for a newborn whose mother wanted nothing to do with her—well, they couldn't say no.

"Her name is Carol, she was just born this morning," Alice said. "It only needs to be for a few days."

"But—could it be for longer?" Merlin asked before they went in, his voice quiet like it got when he was trying not to be hopeful.

Arthur wrapped an arm around Merlin's waist and squeezed soft reassurance. He knew that they were both likely to fall in love as soon as they saw her, and no amount of forewarning would prevent heartbreak if they had to give her back.

From Alice's beaming smile, she'd expected no less.

The mother, Lamia, was suspicious of them from the very first, surprisingly protective of a child she adamantly refused responsibility for. Only after what felt like hours of fielding her interrogation had she allowed them to take the baby from the medical cot near her bed, when Carol started crying for attention.

This time Arthur was the first to hold her, inspiring a shriek and more wailing. She was larger than their son had been at birth, benefiting from an easy pregnancy which ended at its full term, but much smaller than he was at a day shy of one year old.

"She's probably hungry," Lamia said with unconvincing disinterest, continuing her strategy of caring about Carol without caring for her. Though Alice had only shared a small amount of Lamia's history with them, it was enough that he understood why her relationship with the baby would be complicated at best. They wouldn't press her for more. "The nurse can give her formula."

Carol kept crying as a nurse came and went, then returned with a warm bottle of formula. Instead of handing her over to be fed, Arthur asked, "May I?"

He cradled her to his chest, coaxing the bottle's nipple into her mouth until her sobs faded and she latched on. She fed fussily, turning away from the nipple every few moments to complain and dribble formula down his shirt. Warm against his back, Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist and hooked his chin over Arthur's shoulder, watching the little girl— _their_ little girl, she just had to be, he was already sure of it—sniffle and take the nipple again.

Patient and unashamedly melting each time her dark brown eyes blinked up at him, he got about a third of the formula, less some spillage, in her before she refused to return to the bottle. It was enough, and the liquid had grown tepid by then anyway. As Merlin took the bottle from him to put it down, Carol started to whimper again. Though softer than before, her wails lasted through a non-productive burping, a diaper check, and Arthur's wordless—and perhaps, he could admit, tuneless—humming. The last actually seemed to make her more upset, so he stopped pretty quickly.

Then Merlin came around and started making utterly ridiculous faces, wiggling his ears and widening his eyes and contorting his mouth in ways that ought to have been the most unattractive grimaces Arthur had ever seen from him. Instead, such a burst of affection overwhelmed him that he very nearly swept Merlin into this arms to show his love. But he wasn't willing to put Carol down, nor molest his husband in front of Lamia's softening but still judgemental eyes. He settled for letting warmth wash through his chest as he watched Merlin's antics slowly distract her from her cries.

Just as she was yawning and struggling to keep her eyes open, finally overcome by the warm meal, the door to the room opened to admit the rest of Arthur's family. Morgana and Uther had stayed at the house with Noel, but apparently decided to follow them when it became clear that Arthur and Merlin weren't coming back quickly. Their arrival startled Carol into more wails, which in turn set off Noel, so Morgana disappeared with him down the hallway, murmuring soothing nothings.

Uther watched from a distance, talking softly with Alice and Lamia as Merlin and Arthur got the baby settled again, rocking and cooing until her eyes drifted shut and didn't reopen.

Blue eyes swimming with awe, Merlin tilted his face up to meet Arthur's gaze and whispered, "Arthur."

"I know," he said, and, "Here."

Passing her over to Merlin nearly broke his heart, but seeing them together reforged it into something new, stronger and blazing bright. The edges of the world went soft and dim, but Merlin, cuddling a sleeping Carol against the terrible Christmas jumper he'd worn just to annoy Arthur, was warm and vivid.

"You know," Arthur said, needing to break the solemn moment or risk unmanly tears of sentimentality. He wasn't going to cry before Uther did, and neither of them wanted to beat Merlin to it. "If we want to change her name, given the date, we could always call her—"

"So help me, if the next word out of your mouth is 'Noelle,' I'm leaving you and raising our children in some dodgy council estate or the boot of my car."

Arthur looked up at Merlin, affronted, but couldn't get a word in.

"Nonsense," said Uther before Arthur had a chance to respond. Apparently done with Alice, who had disappeared, he stepped quietly over to join them. He stared at the bundle of sleeping babe in Merlin's grasp, his face soft with emotion in a way that still caught Arthur by surprise sometimes, even though he'd been seeing it more and more over the past year. "The Pendragon estate has more than sufficient space for you three, and I already have my security team on site. They can easily keep Arthur away."

"Hey!" Arthur protested—but not too loudly, lest he wake Carol. Or her mother, asleep and peaceful at last on the far side of the room.

Lamia looked achingly young at rest, nearly young enough for them to be adopting her instead of her child. In truth she was nearly twenty, but her youthful appearance and the circumstances reminded him so strongly of Freya that it was hard to remind himself that Lamia was an adult. A mistreated and vulnerable adult, but an adult just the same.

Carol stirred, sighing and wriggling herself closer to Merlin's warmth, but didn't wake. Arthur smiled down at her and resisted the urge to stroke a finger over her soft, flushed cheek only because it had taken so long to get her calmed down and sleeping in the first place.

"Do you want to change her name?" Eyes still fixed on Carol, Merlin seemed torn between thoughtfulness and besottedness.

After a moment of consideration, Arthur shook his head. "I think it suits her. And the date, actually."

Merlin stared at him with an expression of dawning horror. "Dear Lord," said Merlin, "birthdays are going to be a disaster."

"Awful," Arthur agreed. "Two birthdays and two days of holiday, all overlapping."

"We'll just have to do all our celebration of Christmas on Boxing Day," Merlin said. "Christmas Day is for Noel, and Christmas Eve for Carol. And they'll each get their own party, separate cakes and everything, of course."

"At least we have a few years before we have to worry about it."

Morgana slipped into the room. Arthur went to take Noel from her, and though she pouted, she didn't object. Arthur suspected it was only the two sleepers keeping her agreeable, since he and Merlin had had to all but wrestle their son back from her the couple of times she'd babysat for them. She was just as smitten with him as Merlin and Arthur were, as was Uther.

That was why, despite not being prepared for a new addition to the family, Arthur wasn't worried about suddenly bringing Carol into their lives.

They were well off, financially; Arthur earned a substantial salary from his work for his father, enough that Merlin was able to stay home with Noel. Doubling their child-related expenses, or a bit more than that, would stretch but not break their budget. They'd be able to provide her with necessities, and her aunt and grandfather would undoubtedly spoil her with luxuries.

Equally important—more important, Merlin would say, raised by a single mother just above the poverty line—she would be surrounded by love. Arthur knew that he and Merlin on their own had more than enough affection to share that neither child would ever need to feel neglected. But they weren't on their own.

Ignoring Arthur's more distant and distantly related relatives, which they might as well do since none of them had sent more than a card with some bank notes for Noel's birthday, the extended family wasn't large. Merlin's mother had passed shortly after they started seeing each other, and he had no other family. Lamia had no desire to be involved in Carol's life, but Freya was likely to want to extend her role (which had thus far been more friendly cousin than doting aunt, because she was still _so young_ ) to her biological son's adopted sister. Morgana was more than enough aunt to go around.

As Noel's only grandparent, Uther was active enough to count for at least three. More active than he'd been in Arthur's own childhood, but he wasn't resentful. It was long ago, and they'd reconciled most of their past grievances since Noel's birth.

Calm but not sleeping, Noel babbled a delighted, "Puh!" and slapped his hand on Arthur's chest. Arthur snuggled his face into Noel's belly, earning himself a giggle, then held him out so Merlin could press a kiss to his soft blond hair. Then Arthur leaned in to kiss Merlin himself, as distant church bells rang out midnight.


	5. I Wonder as I Wander

_Takes place before In Dulci Jubilo_

* * *

Running headlong into Arthur Pendragon wasn't the first time Merlin's tendency to daydream led him to trouble, but it was by far the most disastrous. Lost in contemplation as he hurried between buildings in his very first week of classes at university, he walked straight into something solid enough to hurt, but more mobile than a tree (which was the usual interruption to his walks back home). It gave slightly when he hit it, then a hand shoved him hard in the chest and sent him stumbling back as he pulled his attention back to his surroundings.

It was a some _one_ , rather than a some _thing_ , which made sense in the context of its—his—reaction to being walked into. That someone turned out to be an absolutely gorgeous bloke who immediately ruined the first impression his good looks bought him by snapping at Merlin before he could even apologize.

"Watch it," he ordered, then turned to his friends and, like it didn't matter at all that Merlin was still there, said, "Doesn't anyone teach the first years their place anymore?"

And just like that, it no longer mattered to Merlin that he'd originally been in the wrong. Yes, he'd been a bit distracted, but he had a lot going on and the guy ought to have known that, since he pegged Merlin as a first year. There was no need to be an ass about it.

"Why don't _you_ watch where _you're_ going?" he shot back, distracting the older students from their self-congratulatory superiority bullshit. They turned back to him as a group, making various forms of offended noises and expressions, but the man Merlin had run into, obviously their leader, was the one to speak.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, you should watch where you're going. I mean, you could've just as easily stepped aside as me, but you and your friends seem to think you're entitled to the whole walkway. Then when someone inevitably runs into you, you go and act like a condescending clotpole about it? I don't think it's us first years who need lessons on manners."

He only became aware of the crowd they'd gathered when they started jeering and cat-calling, and he wasn't at all sure whose side they were on but he knew from the look on the bloke's face that he'd made himself an enemy.

Merlin sighed to himself and decided the fight would be worth being late to class. It was just such a pity the man let his personality ruin an otherwise perfectly good body.


	6. Deck the Halls

Takes place after _Carol of the Bells_

* * *

"Why did we think children were a good idea? Children were a terrible idea."

"You don't mean that."

Arthur wrapped his hands around Merlin's waist from behind and pressed soft, warm lips to the nape of his neck. It would have been a much sweeter gesture if he weren't standing around making sweet gestures instead of helping Merlin scrub crayon off the damn walls.

"Easy for you to say," Merlin muttered. "You don't have to wrangle them every hour of every day. I tried to get five minutes of peace to take the roast out and oh yeah, by the way, it burned. Chinese leftovers in the fridge for you again. But you, you just come home and they're happy to see you and already exhausted and, and—"

He knew he was being unfair even before he ran out of steam. Arthur worked hard and hated how much it took him away from the kids. They'd even talked about cutting back his hours; Uther and Morgana would have supported him, but he was still feeling out the rest of the board before making the proposal.

The last of the accusation dissipated as Arthur firmed up his embrace to support Merlin's heartbroken slump.

"And they want you to kiss them goodnight. Just you."

It didn't mean anything. Noel and Carol were four and three, respectively. Noel was eternally pushing boundaries and Carol was doing whatever her brother did, and they were upset with their dad for not letting them continue defacing the hallway. All of it would be sorted by the morning, he knew that, but it still hurt to be rejected by the twin stars of his solar system.

Arthur's arm stretched over top of his, his fingers curling around Merlin's to stop his cleaning efforts. Merlin let him take the sponge and drop it in the soapy bucket, then pull him out of the hall entirely into the living room and guide him into one of the plush chairs. Kneeling in front of him, Arthur kept hold of Merlin's hands as he looked up at him earnestly.

"I love you," he said to start, really on a roll with the meaningless sweetness.

Merlin swallowed down the bitterness. It wasn't meaningless. Arthur did love him, and he loved Arthur, and they both loved their kids. But Merlin was tired and sad, and it all just felt hopeless.

"I love you," Arthur repeated, like he could tell Merlin needed to hear it again. "And Noel and Carol love you. They're just being brats today—yes, I know, they get it from the Pendragon side."

Wobbly though it felt, Merlin managed to answer that with a smile. No argument from him.

"Merlin, love. You're exhausted. I know you love staying home with the kids most of the time, when they're not running you extra ragged, but you do know you don't _have_ to, right? If you ever want a break, to get out of the house, even to get a job... You can. We'll figure it out."

Merlin blinked, but found he couldn't open his eyes again without tears threatening to spill over, so he kept them closed. Did Arthur want him to work instead? It had been a few years since they talked about it, but when they brought Noel home and again with Carol, they'd agreed how wonderful it was that Arthur's job could support the family so Merlin could be a stay-at-home dad.

"I can," he started, but his voice cracked revealingly.

"Oh, love." Arthur was up on his knees in an instant, wrapping his arms around Merlin and holding him tight to his chest. "You can do anything you want. You won't be disappointing me or the kids either way, I swear. I'm just trying to say that whatever you want to do, you don't have to do it alone.

"You have me. I can take time off work, hell, I can quit my job, we have savings to hold us while we work it out. You have Dad and Morgana. We can hire someone to clean or cook or watch the kids. Whatever you need."

"I shouldn't need to hire someone to raise my kids," Merlin sniffed at him. "My mom managed, and she was on her own and worked two jobs."

Arthur stroked his cheek, eyes soft. "Your mother was a saint and I owe her everything that makes my life complete. She did a wonderful thing with you. But was she happy?"

It was a truth that hurt to face, no matter how long Merlin had known it to be true. "She put on a good show, but... No. Most of the time she was just tired."

"I don't want that for you." Arthur kissed away the tear that had escaped down Merlin's cheek. "You and those two hellions are more important to me than anything in the world. I'll do absolutely anything for you."

"I know."

"I'm sorry I didn't see how much it was getting to you. You've been doing so much—"

"You are, too!" Even if he'd bitterly thought the same thing, Merlin wouldn't let Arthur feel undervalued. "You work so hard—"

"I don't need to work as many hours as I do, and I don't give a damn if the board disagrees. My family comes first. Just, please, Merlin. Tell me if you need something. Anything. Don't suffer for years when I could be helping, please."

"It hasn't been years. It's just... a rough age. All the books said, but I thought. I don't know. It would be different, with ours."

"In what world would we ever end up with children who were less trouble than expected?" This time when Arthur grinned, Merlin returned it more forcefully. "I'm sure they're still awake and feeling guilty. Go on, let them grovel a bit before you tuck them in. I'll take care of the cleanup."

"Like you've ever scrubbed a wall before in your life."

"I can learn. Or pay someone to repaint."


End file.
